


Dazed and Distracted, Can't You Tell

by emjee (MerryHeart)



Series: Nature Points the Way, So Much Left to Say [7]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Bookshelf sex, F/M, Life is good here in the trash can, Smut, library smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryHeart/pseuds/emjee
Summary: "'Reminding me that you’re my wife only encourages me when it comes to putting you in compromising positions.' He took one of her hands in his own and began to press kisses to the soft skin of her inner arm, from her wrist to the lace cuffs at her elbow.'Tell me you’re not only just now realizing that’s why I do it.'"In which Adam and Belle are determined, but houseguests are inconvenient.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "We woke up in the kitchen saying how the hell did this shit happen?"  
> \--Beyonce

Adam found her in the library late one afternoon in September, exactly one hour before they were supposed to sit down to dinner with the first noble guests to grace the castle in years. Adam’s cousins had finally gotten him to agree to a house party— _three days only_ , he’d written as a corollary, underlined twice to ensure they got the message. Belle had always encouraged his correspondence with them, often seeming more invested than he was himself, but he knew she was nervous. He’d barely seen her all day, always seeming to catch her turning a corner just ahead of him, ironing out last-minute details with Mrs. Potts. After catching Plumette in the hall and being informed that _madame la princesse_ was already dressed for dinner, he went off to look for her in the usual places.

His first guess was, unsurprisingly, correct. Belle sat at one of the ground floor tables in a gown of gorgeous green silk, head bent over a notebook, drawing pencil poised in midair, completely oblivious to him sauntering towards her.

“If Plumette finds out that you were handling charcoal in that dress, I’m not sure even I could ensure your safety.”

Belle started so violently she nearly left her seat. “Good Lord, don’t do that! I’m still not used to you being so stealthy.”

“I’m not stealthy,” he scoffed, leaning against the table and crossing one foot over the other. “I’m just normal-sized again.” He thought for a moment before adding, “In most respects.”

Belle glared up at him. “Well, you were about a foot taller and a good deal larger when I met you. I got used to being able to hear you coming.”

“You still can, can’t you? I’m usually rather noisy about it. The heavy breathing, the endless repetitions of your name…”

“What’s gotten into you?” Belle asked as she stood up in a rush of skirts and made her way to a bookshelf. Adam followed and caught her around the waist while her back was turned.

“Are you alright?” He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. Plumette had left one curled lock of hair unpinned and arranged it so it swept across her collarbone. He’d be content to study that curl for hours.

Belle’s shoulders heaved beneath his embrace as she sighed. “Just a bit…apprehensive.”

“Says the brave woman who shut herself in a castle with a beast without a second thought.”

“Don’t,” she said, disentangling herself from his arms and turning to face him. “It just makes me feel silly. After everything I’ve read and done and been through, the fact that my stomach’s churning over something as small as meeting your family…” She shut her eyes and gave a swift exhale. Adam traced his thumb along her jaw and opened his mouth to say something that might soothe her, but before he could get a word out, her eyes flew open again. Her gaze was like steel.

God, she was positively magnetic when she looked at him like that.

“I’m odd,” she declared.

His brow furrowed. “No you’re not—”

“Not to _you_ ,” she clarified, “but to plenty of other people. It’s always been that way. I was different from the people I grew up with and it made me so uncomfortable. Not because I wished I were more like them, but because difference is punished.”

There was a flush creeping into her cheeks that he recognized. He saw it often when he caught her blowing around the library like a one-woman tempest, gathering books to aid with half-formed plans and newfound questions.

“I’ve always had my father, and he is wonderful, and I love him, but he’s only one person. And we were two peas in the only strange pod in that village, so I never really…It was hard to trust his judgement, sometimes, because we were so similar. He was always going to be partial to me. And then I met you.” She shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe he was really there in front of her. “And I was never odd to you.”

“A pain in my arse, perhaps,” said Adam, raising an eyebrow.

Belle’s expression matched his. “That’s because you _were_ an arse.”

“That is correct.”

She reached out and took his hands in her own. “But with you, and Mrs. Potts, and Plumette and Lumière and the rest, I…” Her grip on his fingers tightened and she drew their hands up between them as if she was trying to physically grab the words she wanted. “I’m too comfortable now. I don’t want to be anything but the way I am. I _can’t_ be anything but that. I don’t want to watch my mouth and keep my hands still and avoid drawing with charcoal while I’m in an evening gown.”

“Thank God for that,” he said, his tone of relief exaggerated but genuine. “Belle—you _have_ to know I would never ask you to—”

“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, leaning toward him, “but that still doesn’t mean I don’t worry that I won’t be able to do what’s required of me as your wife.”

“Do you love me?”

Her expression was identical to the one she wore when he asked her things like _Would you like to ride into town tomorrow to visit your father?_ and _It appears that this bathtub is rather large for one person, would you care to join me in it?_ “Of course I do, you ridiculous man.”

He shrugged and gave her a satisfied smile. “That’s all that's required of you as my wife. Asked and answered, next problem please. That one was certainly easier than the average vineyard ownership dispute.”

“Adam, be serious.”

“I am. You are already better at carrying out the duties of your station than most nobles could dream of being, if they ever decided to use their intellect and _try_. The people in your care trust you. Our servants love you. Your judgement is admired and respected. The rest, Belle—the rest is nothing.” He tugged on her hands to pull her closer and leaned down to whisper in her ear, his voice dangerously low. “And when it comes to your expansive vocabulary and your frankly dangerous drawing habits—let me tell you a secret about truly acting the part of aristocracy: the only rule is that you do as you damn well please.”

He stood up straight and let go of her hands, pleased to find the familiar fire back in her eyes. “Now,” he said, crossing his arms and looking far too pleased with himself, “I believe I interrupted you while you were looking for a book. I do apologize.”

“Your apology is under consideration,” said Belle, turning back to the bookshelf and trailing her fingers along a row of leather-bound spines. “Was there a garden enthusiast in your family? You have an impressive collection of books on horticultural aesthetics.”

“My mother,” he explained. “Is that what you were working on so intently when I came in?”

“I’m helping the gardeners with plans for next spring,” she said, selecting a book and turning to face her husband again. “The autumn flowers are just starting to bloom and the trees are about to be divine, but I have grand plans for the rose garden and I want to start now.”

“You don’t tire of roses?” Adam asked. “They’ve caused quite a bit of drama for you. And they can be rather…prickly.”

Belle cocked her head and rested one hand on her hip. “I find sometimes I like being pricked.”

She suddenly found herself backed up against the bookshelf, Adam’s hands fisted in the fabric of her skirts, his lips barely brushing against hers.

“I would be careful if I were you. Smart words can get you into all sorts of trouble.”

“I believe I just said I have no intention of watching my mouth.”

His fingers traced a path from her neck to where her breasts swelled above her bodice. “Decided to seek out danger, then?”

“I married you, didn’t I?”

Adam took her by the waist and hoisted her so she was perched on one of the shelves. “Reminding me that you’re my wife only encourages me when it comes to putting you in compromising positions.” He took one of her hands in his own and began to press kisses to the soft skin of her inner arm, from her wrist to the lace cuffs at her elbow.

“Tell me you’re not only just now realizing that’s why I do it.”

She groaned with satisfaction as Adam pressed his body flush with hers, growling low in his throat as he began to hike her skirts up to her waist. “You, my love,” he said between the fierce kisses he pressed to her neck, “are a shameless—teasing—distractingly beautiful— _minx._ ” He pressed one hand to her cheek and stared down into her warm brown eyes. “And I adore you so much I can barely breathe.”

“Leaving you unable to breathe is the entire goal of this exercise.”

Adam rolled his eyes so intensely his head tipped back, and Belle seized the opportunity to drape an arm around his neck and pull him down so she could kiss along his stubbled jawline, swirling her tongue over his pulse point and teasing the sensitive skin with her teeth. She loved the feeling of his hips grinding into hers as he leaned his full weight against her, trapping her completely between his body and the bookshelf. She could never get enough of how solid he was, how warm, how _vital_.

Adam’s mouth met hers as he continued to rock against her, teasing them both through the layers of her shift and his breeches. He hooked a hand behind one of her knees and hitched her leg up over his hip, the fingers of his other hand moving to stroke the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Would it be very scandalous,” Belle asked, her breath shallow, “if we were caught? Only since there are guests in the house, I mean.”

“My darling,” said Adam, as his thumb circled her clit, “the only thing scandalous about this scene to a courtier is that you’re my wife and I’m still so madly in love with you I want to take you against a bookshelf.” He slid a finger against her damp entrance and relished the way it made her squirm. “That’s right, sweetheart,” he whispered as he began to stroke further inside her. “I want to see you lose yourself completely.”

And then one of the library doors swung open.

As luck—or the sharp instincts of a servant who had to contend with the fact that her employers could be making love in nearly any room she entered—would have it, Plumette had chosen the door that blocked her view of where Adam and Belle were entangled several bookshelves to the right. She knew better than to step inside.

“Forgive me, _madame_ , but Mrs. Potts would like me to inform you that dinner is nearly ready and it is time for the guests to be seated.”

“Y-yes, Plumette,” Belle managed to stutter. “We—I’ll be there in a moment.”

The door closed.

“I’m sure you fooled her,” Adam said wryly as he extracted his hands from beneath her skirts.

Belle made a frustrated noise and gripped the side of the bookshelf for support as he removed her leg from his hip. “There’s no getting anything past Plumette. She helps with my hair, which means she’s seen every love bite you’ve given me above my shoulder.”

“That’s a truly terrifying thought.”

Belle returned to the ground and shook out her skirts. “I should probably increase her salary.” She drew herself up to her full height and laced her hands behind Adam’s head, drawing his gaze down to her. “We are not done with this conversation.”

“No,” said Adam, slowly licking the fingers that been inside her. “No we are not.”

 

Dinner was interminable. Adam didn’t know exactly which etiquette manual demanded that the lord and lady of the house had to be seated as far away from each other as possible when in company, but he imagined it was in his library, and if he ever came across it he determined that he would burn it happily.

Then again, given that he could hardly look down the place settings at his wife without wanting to banish everyone to their rooms and take her on the oak table, perhaps the etiquette manual was succeeding at its job of saving everyone from embarrassment.

The conversation following dinner was thankfully brief, as his cousins were fairly exhausted from travel and he had promised an extensive tour of the grounds the next day. He imagined they were going to want to go shooting later in their visit, but they’d find themselves on their own for that excursion, as Adam found himself with little taste for hunting after his experience on the barrel end of a gun.

They all departed the drawing room together, parting ways at the top of the stairs as the guests made their way to the East Wing, Adam and Belle to the West.

Belle had barely made it inside their bedroom door before she found herself pinned to the wall, her husband’s mouth crashing fervidly against her own. “Sorry—” he gasped between kisses, “I couldn’t—waiting is hard—”

She braced her hands on either side of Adam’s neck to still him. “I cannot tell you how much I agree,” she said, “but if I do not get out of this dress very soon, I am going to scream.”

“I can help with that,” he replied with a self-satisfied smile. “The dress, and the screaming.”

“Patience, you,” Belle laughed, slipping away from him and shedding the jacket of her dress before going to work unpinning her hair. “And what would you say to a trip to the kitchen?”

Adam sat on their bed and dispensed with his shoes, then started on his justaucorps. “This is the first time I’ve gotten you alone all night and you want to go back down to the kitchen? Are you trying to kill me? The whole bringing me back to life thing, the agreeing to marry me, the actually marrying me, was that all just you playing a very long game that still results in my death?”

“I spent so much time talking at dinner, I’m still hungry,”

“So am I. In a somewhat different manner.”

“That seems like a personal problem.”

Belle continued removing her clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on one chair for Plumette to collect in the morning. When she pulled her chemise over her head and stood naked for a moment before donning her night shift, Adam decided she was definitely trying to kill him for as-yet-unspecified reasons.

Nevertheless, he divested himself of his cravat, breeches, and stockings, and threw a dressing gown on over his shirt. He pulled a few blankets off the bed for good measure, since the nights were getting colder and a trip to the kitchen was likely to be chilly. He’d found that he felt the cold far more deeply than he used to, probably as result of no longer having thick fur covering his entire body.

Belle pulled on her own dressing gown and turned to find him wrapped in a veritable cocoon. She laughed and reached for his hand. “Let’s go.”

A few minutes later they found themselves in an empty, still-warm kitchen.

“Bread and jam?” Adam asked, depositing the blankets in a chair and beginning to search the cupboards for Belle’s favorite snack. “I think Mrs. Potts just made fresh blackberry preserves.”

“God bless her,” Belle replied, stoking the fire and hanging the black teakettle over the flames. Adam brought a baguette and the jam jar to the servants’ table that stood in the center of the room, and Belle tore into it happily.

“How did you find dinner?” her husband asked.

“Not terribly exciting,” she said through a mouthful of bread and blackberries, “but not terrifying either. And they’re only here for a few days, after all. It should be fine.”

Adam reached out to run his fingers through her hair. “I knew it would be.”

“Will we have to have visitors often? People from court, I mean. I like receiving people on Tuesdays, and they all go home at the end of the day.”

“I don’t think so,” Adam replied. “Especially if we cultivate the reputation of being invested in the care of our people and being wildly in love with each other. Everyone will decide we’re boring and leave us alone. And if we do have guests, they’ll be interesting ones.”  Belle smiled, and that simple, familiar sight was all it took for his body to remember how rudely interrupted they’d been earlier.

“You have jam at the corner of your mouth,” he said, gesturing to a spot on his own face.

“What, here?”

“Not quite. It’s right about…” He leaned in and kissed the sticky tartness away as Belle laughed. “Got it. No—wait—” He dipped a finger in the jam jar and swiped more preserves across her face, his mouth following the trail he’d left. “There’s still some here…and here…” He tapped the end of her nose and kissed it before returning his finger to the jar and smearing a line of jam down her neck. The laughter that had been bubbling from her turned to sighs as he licked from her pulse point to her collarbone. “So messy, my love,” he whispered, a growl at the edge of his voice. “You remind me of me.”

He was reaching for the tie of her dressing gown when the kettle whistled. Before he could do anything to stop her, Belle was on her feet, removing the kettle from its hook over the fire. She turned to look back at him when he made a frustrated noise. “Is there a problem?”

“I think we need to have a discussion about priorities.”

Her lips curled in a smile as she located a tin of Mrs. Potts’ best tea and spooned the leaves into a teapot. “Find some cups and a bit of brandy, would you?”

Adam did as he was asked while Belle set the tea to steeping. “What are you on about?”

Her face was far too innocent to be believed. “I don’t know what you mean. Mrs. Potts has been teaching me some lovely recipes for hot drinks, that’s all. I thought you might enjoy one, knowing how cold you get.”

“I can assure you that me not being warm enough is the last thing you need to worry about right now.” He set the teacups and a bottle of brandy on the table as she brought over the teapot and a strainer.

“I’d prefer to enjoy my tea closer to the fire,” she said, splashing brandy into the china cups. “Would you mind spreading the blankets on the floor?”

Adam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Belle went about her business, humming as she filled each cup with tea and set the silver strainer aside. When the blankets were spread before the fire, Adam returned to the table and reached for his cup, but Belle knocked his hand away.

“Almost forgot.” She brought the honey pot over from the sideboard and twirled the honey dipper over each of their cups, watching as the spirals of sweetness dissolved. Before she returned the dipper to the pot, she drizzled honey over one of her fingers, catching Adam’s eye as she sucked it off.

He gripped the side of the table so hard his knuckles went white. “That’s just not fair.”

She did it again, and the glint in her eyes told him he’d been played.

“Why, _you little_ —”

Belle shrieked with laughter as he caught her around the waist and pulled her down onto the blankets, rolling her under him. He rocked against her, kissing her soundly, sure she could feel the hard ridge of him beneath his nightshirt. She tasted like blackberries—sweet, sharp, the last hurrah of summer.

“You,” he said, sitting up and untying her dressing gown, “are a clever, dangerous temptress, and you must be suitably punished.”

Belle’s only response was a peal of laughter that sounded, to his ears, entirely too self-satisfied. He knelt at her feet and threw the hem of her shift up over her knees before hitching her legs over his shoulders and pressing fierce kisses to her clit. Her laughter turned into a long moan and he swirled his tongue around her, pleased with himself. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, and just when he knew she was truly wanting, he returned her legs to the floor and moved to lie over her.

“Two can play at the teasing game,” he growled, winding his fingers in her hair and tugging her head to an angle that gave him better access to her neck. Her legs came up around his hips and he felt her fingers digging into his back as he sucked and bit, leaving dark red marks from her ear to her collarbone. One thumb drifted down to pinch and twist the stiff peak of her nipple through her shift. Her back arched and one hand grabbed at the thin fabric, trying to pull it lower for him. He pulled it to one side, baring one of her perfect shoulders, and lifted her breast above the shift’s neckline.

It was tight and full and he moaned as he set his mouth to it, running his lips over its curves before swirling his tongue around her nipple until he heard a high-pitched whine from the back of her throat, followed by his name.

“What is it, my dearest, cruelest love?”

“There are entirely too many clothes involved in this situation.”

On that, they were in complete agreement. He rolled off of her just long enough for them both to divest themselves of dressing gowns and night shirts before returning to where they had been, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. He hesitated.

“Don’t get gentle on me _now_ ,” she insisted. “I’ve been dying to have you all day, I can take it.”

Adam didn’t need telling twice. He groaned as he thrust into her, relishing the feel of her fingernails on his back, loving the scratch marks she left there as much as she loved the bite marks she’d wake up with the next day.

He buried his face in her neck and lost himself in the feel of her, how soft she was beneath him, how hot and wet and perfect she felt as he slid his cock in and out of her.

“Belle—sweetheart—are you—?”

“Almost,” she gasped, her hands moving to his arse to guide how he ground against her clit. Her ankles were pressed hard against the backs of his thighs. “You’re perfect, God, just like that.” And then she went quiet and still, holding her breath as her climax moved through her in waves. Adam raised himself on one arm and stroked her hair away from her face, watching as her eyes fluttered shut and she gave herself up completely to her pleasure. She was a vision.

It didn’t take long for him to follow, collapsing his full weight on top of her as he came. Her hands came to the back of his head, stroking his hair until he regained the use of his limbs and lifted himself away from her, rolling onto his back to rest beside her.

“I am almost embarrassed by how long that didn’t take,” he said.

“Well, you’ve have been waiting all day,” she replied, propping herself up on one elbow and smiling down at him, “and patience isn’t quite something you’re known for.”

“I waited for you for years, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t _know_ you were waiting for me, and based on eyewitness reports, you spend most of that time in a foul temper.”

“You’d be in a foul temper too if you hadn’t met you yet.” He let out a rush of air and draped an arm across his forehead. “Good God. How did we keep our hands off each other before we got married?”

“We didn’t.”

“That explains it.”

“We’ve only been married for a month.”

“I’d already forgotten.”

“You’re so irresistible when you’re frustrated,” she teased, tracing a finger down his chest.

Adam raised his head and thumped it back against the floor. “Is _that_ was this was all about? All this ‘oh, I’m hungry’, ‘would you like some tea’, ‘pardon me while I lick honey from my fingers seductively’.”

“I _was_ hungry. When have I ever joked about food?”

“Ugh. Very true. That’s why Lumière adores you.”

“The beginning of our friendship was forged over dancing cutlery.”

“As long as he didn’t teach you about seductive honey licking.”

“Oh, honestly. You come across me going about my normal business in the library and say that I’m _reading_ seductively.”

“You really shouldn’t talk about your intensely sensual reading habits unless you’d like to go for another round, minx.”

“I thought I might take my books and go read in a tree tomorrow.”

“I’ve seen how many books you take with you at one time. How are you going to get all of them up in a tree?”

“Pulley system. Quite simple, really. And do you know where I learned about them?”

“Your father.”

“A book.”

“I did warn you,” Adam growled, pulling her down onto him and rolling them closer to the fire, silencing her laughter with a bruising, demanding kiss.

 

Belle awoke to the sound of the clock chiming four-thirty in the morning. It took her a moment to remember where she was.

That was Adam next to her, pressed so close she probably couldn’t roll over without waking him. That was normal. She was wearing her shift. Also normal. But the floor was hard, and she was cocooned in blankets—

“Adam.” He stirred in his sleep, but didn’t wake. “ _Adam_.” Belle sighed. “Wake up, Adam, or I swear I’m going blackberry picking without you.”

His eyes flew open. “Don’t. You. Dare. Don’t you dare leave me in the house with these people while you run off with your farm-girl dresses and your berry stained-mouth. Mmm.” He smiled at the thought of her lips smeared with berry juice and leaned in to kiss her. “Hold on. Where are we?”

“We fell asleep.”

“Oh. _Oh_. Do you know what time it is?”

“Just after four-thirty.”

“Okay. We should be able to sneak back upstairs and pretend like we absolutely spent the night in our own bed like normal, boring people.”

They disentangled themselves from the blankets and pulled on their dressing gowns, which had somehow ended up piled on the kitchen table.

“Oh no,” said Belle, as Adam gathered up the blankets. “The tea got cold.”

Adam straightened suddenly. “Hide the evidence, and I won’t tell Mrs. Potts if you won’t.”

“Tell me what, dearie?”

Belle and Adam both spun to face the kitchen door, where Mrs. Potts stood, far too immaculately dressed for this early in the morning.

“It’s nothing, Mrs. Potts,” Adam insisted.

“You two are down for breakfast awfully early.”

“Actually, we were…just leaving,” said Belle. “I…awoke with a bit of a cough and required some tea.”

“No need to lie to me, my dear, I know a cold cup of tea when I see it.” She put her hands on her hips and smiled good-naturedly. “Off to bed with the two of you. You can get a few more hours sleep, if you manage to behave yourselves.”

They both hurried out and took the stairs as fast as they could quietly go.

“Nothing gets by her,” Belle whispered with a mixture of fear and admiration.

“I can’t believe I forgot the first rule of this house,” said Adam. “No one is up before Beatrice Potts.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've done some more research vis-a-vis eighteenth century clothing and hopefully corrected any errors. If my efforts were in vain, please feel free to correct me.
> 
> I'd like to thank dereksprettyboy (derekmorgan on AO3) for their headcanons.
> 
> And also, Beyonce.


End file.
